Coffins
by driflew
Summary: Drifting just short of a month at sea after his revival, Brook had to do something about the crowded deck.


**AN: I started a tumblr blog called everybrook which forced me to reread Brook's backstory again, and I ended up really hung up on that panel of him putting his friends' heads into a coffin. Well, I was hung up on the source of the coffins specifically. I thought originally they were in preparation of Yorki's sickness taking a bad turn, but I realized that there would be no point, since Yorki and them seemed to part ways with the Rumbar Pirates as soon as they hit land (which would have to be when they bought the coffins, rendering the buying of said coffins useless). This left only one other option to me: Brook built the coffins himself. Thus, this happened.**

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Humming rolled out the galley door and onto the deck, being absorbed into the thick fog surrounding the large ship. The humming failed to cover the sound of the wood being torn from its place, of a table methodologically deconstructed, plank by plank. Brook carried the boards out of the room and into another next door, to the other pieces he'd gathered, averting his eyes—not that he had any!—from the crowded deck. There wasn't enough room in the galley for his work, but Brook was unwilling to travel too far from the galley just yet. It was easier not to walk about the deck for too long. It was too crowded in some places to walk in, and some sections of the deck had holes in them which were no good to fall through. It was hard to maneuver past the many hazards when he could never make himself looked down. Tripping was also out of the question, because Brook wasn't excited about what he might land on, or...

Well, it was just best to stay off the deck.

Brook set out the the wood in front of him, the last which he needed. He'd gathered the tools he needed already, bracing himself against the railing to cross the large deck—Yorki had been sure Rumbar Pirates were not made only of gifted musicians, but of members skilled in all sorts of other useful practices. Of course they'd had a shipwright on board, especially traveling a sea like this. The Grand Line was never forgiving of those unprepared for its challenges (though it hadn't really been forgiving to those who were prepared, either).

Brook had done his best to find wood which hadn't started decomposing in the salty sea breeze, hence the fact he'd sticking to the furniture that had been inside. He knew all the wood on deck was damaged, not to mention his aversion to the place. Besides, it wasn't necessarily decomposition he was worried about on the wood out there. Sure, it had been broken during the fighting, but he was more worried about the fact that the deck was where he and his injured crew had… made a serious mess.

Well, Brook found the clean wood he needed by taking apart a few of the long tables in the galley. The crew wouldn't be needing them, anyway. Besides, all the food had rotted, and Brook was unsure if eating was even a thing he could do. He could drink, though, somehow. He found he preferred hot drinks now, more than he ever used to. Brook chose not to dwell on why that might be.

With the wood he needed gathered, Brook set to work. There was no way he could build enough for everyone without tearing the entire ship apart, so he'd already resolved to store only the skulls. He'd have to figure out what to do with the rest of their bodies eventually, though, if he ever wanted to use the deck again. Somewhere in the back of his mind—not that he had one anymore!—he already knew what he would have to do with them, but he didn't want to think about that, either.

At least his friends wouldn't be attracting any sharks or Sea Kings with the states their bodies were in now. This would all be much more complicated if he disposed of the bodies and his ship became a buffet. Just attracting whales was enough for Brook.

Despite sailing for most of his life, Brook had never really been one for swearing. That had nearly changed after slamming his finger with a hammer for the umpteenth time trying to put together the first coffin, though he managed to laugh it off. Laughing off his troubles with a joke was something he'd become a lot better at recently. After all, without Brook's voice, the whole world would fall silent again. Brook found himself laughing at a lot of things now. He's sure only a madman would be laughing in such dire straits as he is, but he chose not to dwell on it too much.

The second coffin became a little easier, the third easier still. He hit his fingers less with each iteration, though he wasn't ever quite able to avoid it completely. His hammer pounded rhythmically against the nails he'd managed to salvage from the old wood, the sound only interrupted by sudden, loud laughter. If he just kept laughing it off, then it wouldn't be so bad.

Brook painted each finished coffin to hide the blemishes—mostly made by Brook's own error in building or tearing apart—once he finished. By six or seven, he felt he was practically an expert. He'd always been good with his hands, quick to pick up instruments of all kinds. He'd been one of the most versatile members in the crew, as he could play just about anything. Not to say the others weren't skilled, of course! He could hardly believe his ears—when he used to have them!—when he'd listened to the rest of the Rumbar Pirates play. There wasn't anything more beautiful to Brook, nor was there anything that ever made him anywhere near as happy. A deck filled with the happy music of his dearest friends was indeed the best place on the seas. Come hell or high water, the Rumbar Pirates could and would sing their hearts out, strengthening bond and resolve with both their captain's favorite song and a smile upon their lips.

Brook no longer has the lips to smile with, but he could still carry a tune.

Most of the crew's instruments had suffered the elements from lying on deck in the year it took Brook's soul to reunite with his body after death. This, combined with the damage some of them suffered during battle, or from being dropped, or...

Well, Brook couldn't really pick up any of these instruments to play them anymore. He'd gathered them in the crew's former sleeping quarters for the time being. Useless and damaged as they were, he couldn't quite bare to dispose of them.

Brook would need only a few more coffins to fit... everything he needed to. He'd store them in this room, then lock the door. Whenever his ship hit land, drifting aimless as it was, he could bury them. And he knew had to hit land eventually. It'd already been well over a year since their deaths and almost a month since his return, how long could it possibly drift for?

It would land. As long as it was seaworthy, it would drift, and Brook would see to it that his friends received a proper burial. Until then, Brook would wait. Wait and hope.

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 **AN: This has been in my drafts for a while and I've rewritten it several times now yet it's still not quite what I want... however I want it not in my drafts anymore so it's free now.**

 **I have a few more Brook fic ideas, since he's basically my favorite, so stay tuned in case I ever actually write them**


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